


Circle and Spiral

by deianaera



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 10:09:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1644968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deianaera/pseuds/deianaera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened to the Dursleys after the end of Deathly Hallows?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Circle and Spiral

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://omniocular.livejournal.com/profile)[**omniocular**](http://omniocular.livejournal.com/)'s [August challenge](http://community.livejournal.com/omniocular/165775.html) \- prompts 141 and 184. Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy.

Title: Circle and Spiral  
Author: [](http://deianaera.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://deianaera.livejournal.com/)**deianaera**  
Rating: PG  
Characters: Dudley Dursley, Vernon Dursley, Petunia Dursley, Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley  
Warnings: None  
Summary: What happened to the Dursleys after the end of Deathly Hallows?  
Length: ~9500 words  
Author's notes: Written for [](http://omniocular.livejournal.com/profile)[**omniocular**](http://omniocular.livejournal.com/)'s [August challenge](http://community.livejournal.com/omniocular/165775.html) \- prompts 141 and 184. Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy.

** Part I **

The night Harry left was supposed to be the happiest night of Dudley’s life. He certainly wasn’t supposed to spend the next year hiding in the homes of the very people who existence he had been taught to despise. And certainly not trapped with his parents, who looked like they were determined to be miserable. His father had given up his job – which, despite all his complaints, seemed to truly enjoy. His mother had walked away from what she frequently called her “joy” - her home and its garden. Every time Dudley was around them, they were complaining – the food was wrong, the witches and wizards watching them were too threatening or not near enough to protect them, or any one of a hundred nitpicking complaints. As for Dudley, he was left to himself, so he began to wander around on his own.

Dudley knew people thought he was stupid, but he really wasn’t. He was just a bit slow and selfish, and yes, spoiled. Since his run in with the Dementor, he had become more thoughtful and less bullying. He thought before he spoke, trying to organize his thoughts into a semblance of order. In this time a place, he was certainly smarter than his parents; he understood their time in hiding would be far more pleasant if they understood why they were hiding and the people they were hiding with. So Dudley would usually take a seat somewhere in their host’s living room and watch and listen. And learn.

Dudley’s lessons from observation taught him a little about wizards and their world. Wizards used magic the way he and his family used electronics and technology, with about the same levels of dependency. With a wave of their wands, they could summon a ghostly orchestra to play, but ask them to turn on the telly and they were helpless. It was like what one of his guidance counselor’s had said: There are differences, but we are all the same.

He carried that wisdom with him when they were allowed to return home after Harry defeated his evil wizard. Their home, his mother’s pride and joy, was clearly a casualty in his cousin’s war. As they stepped inside, glass shards from windows and picture frames crunched underfoot. Most of the second story was wreck; his room and Harry’s had both been destroyed down to the framework. When they ventured into the backyard and saw his mother’s beautiful garden destroyed beyond repair, his mother broke down and cried in his father’s arms.

Part of the problem, Dudley learned, was simple finances. His father had no job and little prospects as he hadn’t worked for a year. The family’s savings simply weren’t enough to cover the massive repairs needed and without the repairs, the house wasn’t livable or sellable. The wizards and witches his parents had bullied and insulted and badgered for the last year probably could have been put things right, Dudley thought, but he knew they wouldn’t. After the seventh fight about money in four days, Dudley had had enough. With his mother sobbing for him not to leave and his father threatening him with all kinds of harm for abandoning his family, Dudley set out to find his cousin Harry.

His impulsive decision only took him a few blocks. After that, he was stymied by a simple question: How could he find his cousin? He sat down on the low wall lining the sidewalk of Magnolia Crescent and thought hard.

Dim memories came to him of mother sitting at her polished kitchen table as he ate – stuffed his face to be more accurate – Yuletide cookies and drank eggnog and watched her carefully label a small package and letter for Harry. Her distaste was evident as she completed the task of familial obligation to her sister’s son, but she did so nonetheless. Dudley closed his eyes and thought past the treats to his mother’s actions.

_“Simply disgraceful, sending this in the post,” His mother said with a sneer on her thin lips._

_His father walked into the kitchen as she spoke. “What’s disgraceful, my flower?”_

_“That-“ she broke off quickly and whipped her head back and forth before continuing. “School,” she finished in a stage whisper._

_Dudley watched his father drop his cup, cracking the thin porcelain cup. “What trouble has the boy gotten himself into that you have to write to_ them _,” he hissed._

_“Well, it_ is _Christmas. We have to send something or they might…well, you know.”_

_He could hear his father’s teeth grinding from across the room. Dudley carefully studied his food; he knew his was listening to a taboo subject and wanted to hear all of it._

_“How do you get things to him at that ruddy school of his anyway? We don’t use any of those owls. We’re normal!”_

_“It’s quite simple, Vernon. I send them in the post, care of the Leaky Cauldron.”_

_“How can you be sure they get there?”_

_“It’s never failed before.”_

Dudley opened his eyes. The Leaky Cauldron it was, then.

Finding the Leaky Cauldron was much easier than said than done. Hoping against hope that it would be in London, since that’s where Harry always had to go for things magical, he went into the city proper. Sure of his purpose now, Dudley began to walk again. On the far side of the park, he picked up the bus line and boarded the next bus to London. With the help of the bus driver, Dudley managed to make it to central London. After a year spent in isolation, the density of people and the relentless noise was overwhelming. Dudley headed into a small restaurant to get some peace.

There, he ordered a small drink and held his pounding head. This was not what he had planned. After paying for his drink, he began to think beyond looking for his cousin. Where was he going to sleep tonight? Groaning, Dudley carefully nursed his drink and tried to figure out a way to not end up returning home in failure only hours after he left. When he reached the bottom of his glass, the respite from the crush of downtown let him think clearly enough to remember friends from Smeltings who could probably put him up for a night or two. A phone call to his friend Mark Karcher proved him right; Mark was on his own now, but he was willing to let him stay with him and his roommate if he could help out with rent.

Once he had a place to sleep, Dudley began searching London for the Leaky Cauldron. He wandered up and down streets and side streets, looking for it with no luck. As he looked for the way to contact his cousin, he also began looking for a job. He had a year’s spending money to burn through in his wallet, but he knew that wouldn’t be enough to last if he was going to pay his way with Mark.

For the first time, Dudley wished he had liked school. He never finished and until now that hadn’t bothered him. But the places that were hiring in the vicinity of Mark’s flat were all looking for college students. When he explained that no, he wasn’t a student, his prospects were exactly nil. Yet he kept looking for work and the mysterious Leaky Cauldron.

On the third day of his hunt, it occurred to him that he could simply write a letter to Harry and send it to the Leaky Cauldron, but, somehow, that didn’t seem right. Dudley wanted to see his cousin, tell him, again, that he didn’t hate him. And, a small kernel seemed to say, to see if Harry felt the same.

After a week’s searching for work and the Leaky Cauldron, coupled with how quickly he’d run through his money, Dudley decided to go back to his parent’s house and see if he could convince them to throw some cash his way. A new-minted veteran of the transit system, Dudley was quietly amazed that he made it to Surrey in one go. He walked the last blocks to his childhood home and found both his parents there for him.

In a short week, the house had already changed. The portions which had been destroyed were replaced with fresh, bright wood framing and plastic tarps that snapped playfully in the gentle summer breeze. The lawn was already neat and tidy, like it had been all his life, and he could smell fresh earth in the air. As he approached the door, he could hear his father bellowing orders to workmen inside the house. Dudley turned the knob of the front door and walked inside.

His father’s voice snapped into focus, his orders coming in the same harsh and demanding bluster-filled tone he had grown up hearing directed at Harry. Dudley deliberately bypassed the stairs to find his mother. He went through the spotless kitchen, ruthlessly scrubbed clean of any trace of the last year, and out back into her garden. Unlike Harry, he had never had to weed his mother’s precisely sorted fields of flowers and herbs, so the only memories he had were of casually ripping plants out of the ground and making problems for his cousin, taunting him as he labored in the hot summer sun while he played video games or watched TV.

The sight of the repaired garden, with earth fresh-tilled and the air rich with soil, made Dudley feel like the old wizard’s words about him were true. His parents may have done him a disservice by giving him leave to do as he pleased. Sighing, he walked along the cracked stones to kneel next to his mother, who was shaded by a straw hat large enough to shade him as well from the sun.

“Hello, mum,” Dudley said quietly.

She shrieked in surprise and tossed her spade directly at him. Dudley felt the rounded point strike him just above his navel and rubbed the spot absently; it caused his a dull ache. His mother took the moment to scramble to her feet and move away from him. He looked up at her as she stood, panting and pressing her palm against her chest several feet away.

“Dudders? Is it you?” she asked after a moment.

“Yeah. Hi, mum. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

His mother walked cautiously over to him, as though he was a handsome wild animal that couldn’t quite be trusted. She laid a hand on his shoulder and, when he didn’t flee or strike her, she dropped to her knees and hugged him tightly in her surprisingly strong arms. He always forgot how strong she was.

After a moment, when Dudley began to be afraid that she would smother him under the brim of her hat, which was pressed tightly against his face, she shoved him roughly away from him and he rocked back on his heels from the fury.

“Dudley, I am so disappointed in you! How could you abandon your father and I like that? And where have you been for the last week? You don’t call, you don’t write, no a word until you show up in the garden. Oh, my Diddykins, I’m so glad you’re safe and at home!” she cried and she embraced him again.

“Hi, mum, I’m glad to see you, too,” Dudley mumbled as the hat brim again tried to suffocate him.

Dudley convinced him mother to come inside and talk with him in the kitchen. Of all the places in the house that was home for him, it was the kitchen. Of course, he thought ruefully, it was where he spent his childhood stuffing his face. Glancing over at the countertop where the telly used to be, Dudley wondered why they had treated them the way they had. He knew he had done nothing to earn it. Still, it was a question he could never ask – and never have answered.

“So, mum, what happened? I mean, how did you and Dad get everything fixed up so fast?”

“Oh, it was the most marvelous thing!” she said as she placed a plate of sandwiches before him with a large glass of milk. She slid into the chair next to him, apparently oblivious to his father shouting orders upstairs. “Five days ago, a work crew showed up. Turns out we won a free home remodeling from one of those chain shops. Your father was so pleased! He’s been enjoying himself so much that he’s talking about looking into starting his own construction firm! You know how those foreign laborers can be, Dudley. They need someone like your father to keep them in line. And he’s so good at it, too! Why, they finished downstairs here just yesterday and they’re already making such marvelous progress on the second floor.”

She smiled at him, her pale face still flushed from the sun. “They paid for all new furniture as well! And none of this low-quality stuff, either! Good, solid English furniture. Oh, we’re thrilled.

“Now, where did you disappear off to, Dudley?”

“Well…,” Dudley hesitated, “I went looking for Harry.”

“What? Whatever for? Dudley, he and his nasty problem are gone for good. We don’t have to worry about him or his kind ever bothering us again!”

Her face was no longer flushed from the sun, but an ugly, mottled red. Dudley thought for a moment how to explain why he had gone. Slowly, he chose the best words he could. “Harry, he owes us, I thought. All this happened because of him, I thought, so it was only right that he fix it.”

“Oh, my Dudders, I am so proud of you!” Once again, he was swept into her arms, mashed against her, distinctly uncomfortable. He knew he said what she thought was right, but again, those words haunted him: “There are differences, but we are all the same.”

“But, mum, I have a question to ask you and Dad.”

“Of course, of course. I’m just so glad you’re home!”

“Yeah, me too.”

He didn’t have the heart to tell his mother that he wasn’t coming home. So Dudley sat in the kitchen and let himself be plied with sandwiches and treats until after the workmen left for the day and his father came downstairs to join them. When his father saw him, he glared and huffed, but clapped him on the shoulder and didn’t tell him to get out. They sat down to a family dinner; for twenty minutes, there was silence as they ate. Afterward, though, his father asked him to sit in the living room.

“So, boy, the real world too harsh and you had to come home, eh?”

“No, sir,” Dudley replied stiffly.

“Then what did you come back for? Hope your mother was a soft touch and would give you what you needed?”

“No, sir, I-“

His mother cut him off. “Oh, Vernon, he was wonderful! He went to find Harry and make him set things right for us!”

“Did you now?”

Dudley nodded.

“What the hell made you think we needed that little shit to take care of us?” Vernon roared.

“Well, the house was ruined and you had no job and I thought-“

“Boy, you thought that I couldn’t take care of my family? Couldn’t do it without that little freak and his tricks? Haven’t you seen that no good comes from him and his kind?”

Dudley opened his mouth, but didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Dudley muttered, though he wasn’t sorry at all.

“You best be sorry after the scare you’ve given your mother. Now, your room was destroyed and the men – lazy and shiftless, the lot of them, but I keep them in line – won’t have a chance to rebuild it for another week. You can stay on the couch here until we get everything set up.”

“But I’m not coming back to stay,” Dudley said before he thought.

“What?” his father roared again.

“I just came back to-“

“You came back to see if your mother was a soft touch after all! Living among those-those people has made you as weak and a shiftless as they are! Probably only came back because you have no home-”

“No!” Dudley shouted. “I mean, I have a home, kind of. It’s just-“

“Just what?”

“I can’t find a job and they’re going to toss me out if I can’t come up with my share by next week.”

“Why, then, you can come back home with us,” Petunia said happily.

“The hell he can,” Vernon roared in response and Petunia faded for a moment under the crush of his voice.

Dudley sat on his chair and watched the unthinkable happen. His mother, who never raised her voice, never disagreed with his father, who seemed focused on doing nothing but providing home and hearth and meals for the two of them, stood up and screamed back.

“Don’t you speak to me like that! Don’t you dare speak to me like that, Vernon! Dudley is our son! He’s had a horrific year-“

“Courtesy of _those_ people you brought into his life!”

“I brought? I brought? How can you say that?”

“You’re the one who insisted we keep the child, Petunia,” Vernon hissed, his face flushed red like he had drunk several glasses of brandy. “You’re the one who kept him despite knowing what he was likely to be. You coddled him against everything I said to you. And when we knew what he was, you insisted we still keep him! When he nearly killed our son, you insisted he stay. We had to go into exile for a year because of that blasted boy when if we had turned him out on the spot, we would have been safe and happy.

“So, yes,” Vernon finished in triumph, “this is your fault.”

Petunia shuddered and swayed toward her seat before steadying. Looking into Vernon’s face, she replied. “It was the right thing to do then, it’s the right thing to do now. Harry was my sister’s son and I couldn’t simply turn him away. What would everyone think if they found out? How could we explain without telling them everything? You even agreed, Vernon! Don’t make me the villain of this mess just because you don’t like what’s come of it.

“Now, we were discussing Dudley coming home, not some boy we’ll never see again.” Petunia sat calmly in her chair, appearing unruffled by the argument.

Vernon, breathing heavily, stared at his wife for a long moment before he, too, sat down in his chair, the flush fading from his skin. Dudley looked back and forth between his parents as they sat silently – his mother, the icy queen, his father, the ruddy knight. The very few times he had seen his parents fight – and never once like this – it was over Harry. He supposed that this fight, too, could be laid at his cousin’s feet, though he had done nothing to instigate it this once.

The silence continued until Dudley couldn’t bear its weight anymore. Quietly – he had no desire to focus his mother’s icy wrath on him any more than necessary – he said, “Mum?”

All smiles and sunshine, Petunia turned to him. “Yes, my Diddykins?”

“I don’t wanna come home,” he mumbled.

Clouds came out and her smile faded. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I didn’t hear you. What did you say?”

Clearing his throat and looking up from the carpet, Dudley said again, “I don’t want to come home.”

Vernon, breath and traditional coloring restored looked up at that and barked, “Ha! See, the boy doesn’t even want to come home!”

“Nonsense, Vernon! He-“

“No, mum, I don’t want to come home.”

“Did, did you just come here for money, Dudley?” Petunia asked quietly.

“Not exactly.”

“Then why are you here, Dudley?” Vernon asked gleefully.

Dudley sat for a moment, letting his gaze rest on the pale carpet in the room as he chose his words with care. “To see if I could help you put things together. I was hoping I could get you to pay me for it.”

His parents were silent. Looking up from the floor, he could see them looking at each other, faces wrinkled in consternation. After an awkward moment, his father broke the silence. “Did you mean that, son? Did you mean you were willing to work for money?”

Dudley looked up from the carpet and met his father’s gaze – man to man, as he was taught. “Yes sir, I did.”

His mother’s steely arms locked around him again and his father lost his bluster and said with pride, “You’ll start tomorrow. Five in the morning, same as that shiftless lot that are doing the repairs. Maybe a fine example like you can teach them hard work and responsibility!”

“Thanks, Dad,” Dudley said from around his mother’s arm as she continues to make noises of high-pitched praise into his shoulder.

His mother was happy to give him what his father called a loan against his first week’s wages and send him back to his new home with a rucksack loaded with food. Rent secured, work secured and full up on his mother’s cooking, Dudley was satisfied with how everything worked out. His roommates were happy enough with the money and the extra food. The next day, he started working for his father.

Dudley gained new appreciation for Harry and all he had done – been forced to do – under his father’s watchful eye during his first day on the job. He was a complete novice and no more of an idea of how to run wiring or frame a wall than he did how to play a mandolin with his feet. His father’s hollered instructions to the workers – none of whom were foreign as it turned out – were by turns contradictory, ill-informed, and insulting. Occasionally, his father would hit all three at once.

Fortunately, he made an accord with Jimmy over lunch when he split his large meal to share, which his mother made and brought up just for him. Jimmy was fifty if he was a day and had, by his count, spent forty of those years working in construction. He knew how to do all things his father wanted and all the fancy touches his mother desired and more than all that put together. In the eyes of the other men on the job, Jimmy, not his dad, was the real boss.

For the first time in his life, Dudley ignored his father’s booming demands and heavy-handed false praise. Instead, he buckled down and listened to Jimmy and the others and learned how to build things. In the time it took to complete the second story repairs on the house, Dudley learned the basics of how to build a house – he could not only hammer a nail straight and true, but he could run wiring for phones and electric outlets and install insulation and, yes, frame a wall. His clumsy attempts sometimes required more effort to undo than to do properly, but he was quietly pleased when at the end of the job, Jimmy told him he was coming along well and that there was a place with him on his next crew, if he was interested.

Looking at the bare white walls in what had once been Harry’s bedroom and suffused with pride that he had helped rebuild them, Dudley agreed.

Each day, Dudley worked under Jimmy, learning in turn each of the roles involved in construction, be it commercial or residential. Despite being weary down to his bones and often filthy at the end of the day, Dudley still found time to spend with Mark and the new friends he made and brought home. Oh, and of course he found time for girls.

College girls, Dudley learned, were impressed by the fact that he had a job and money. Money, that is, he could spend on them. His hands, callused and hardened by his labors, were a mark of distinction among the type of men they usually dated. Of course, he was usually less of a conversationalist that they were used to, as well. But, all in all he did well with the college girls.

By the end of their first year, Dudley and Mark decided to split out on their own; with Dudley’s steady income, they were able to rent a nice house a short distance away from Uni for Mark and right on the lines for Dudley to get to his jobs.

After the house was rebuilt, Vernon did decide to start his own construction firm. He spent the last year securing financing and contacts and learning that Petunia was far more skilled with securing financing and contacts than he was. However, no one could beat him at bullying and hustling workers. That alone provided Dudley the strength to resist every attempt by his father to bring him into the new family business. Despite that, he was mortally affected by his mother’s tear-filled beseeching and frequently dodged her calls and visits to avoid telling her ‘No’.

As he and Mark were getting ready to move to their new place, Jimmy called him into the trailer on the job site.

Dudley twisted through the narrow doorway – he always had been a large and that had not changed – and stood, hands clasped behind his back in front of Jimmy’s scarred desk.

“Dursley, your Mum just called me,” the old man said flatly.

Dudley flushed. “Sorry, Jimmy.”

“Damn right you’re sorry. Why’ve you been turning down yer folks for the last month?” Jimmy leaned forward. “Come on, Dursley, why are you staying when you’re folks need you?”

Dudley stared at the ground and hesitantly responded, “Because I wanna work for you, sir.”

Jimmy snorted. “Well, I’m quittin here and going to work for yer family. You wanna keep workin fer me, you come too.”

The words left his mouth before he could censor them. “Why in the hell you wanna do that for, Jimmy? They treated you like shit last time. What makes you think things are gonna be so good this time?”

Jimmy’s lips twitched. “Because I’m the foreman. And they’re paying me through the nose. Now, you coming with me or not?”

Dudley sighed. “Yes, Jimmy.”

The extra money his parents were paying him meant that he and Mark could afford to furnish their new place in style. After Dudley started working for his parents and he and Mark finished redecorating – buying real furniture and, of course, the stereo system that every home really needs - they threw a party. By then, it was the end of the first term so Mark, of course, invited all of his friends from school. They, of course, invited their friends and some people just showed up. One of the friends of a friend of a friend was Laura.

Laura Dearborn was a in the same year as Mark, though they didn’t know each other beyond the casual hello as their paths crossed on campus. She arrived with a group of other girls, but she was different, somehow. Her soft brown hair fell in soft waves around her sweet face and Dudley would be willing to swear he felt his heart spasm when he saw her turn toward a corner, alone with a plastic cup in her hands.

Following a knowing – instinct was too weak of a word for what he felt – he walked over and introduced himself.

“Hi,” Dudley said quietly. Mentally, he kicked himself over and over again for not being able to say something meaningful, something special to impress her.

She turned out of the corner and looked up at him. Dudley sucked in a breath; her eyes were a brilliant hazel – all green and gold and brown. Autumnal, he though. “Hi,” she replied.

“So, um, are you having fun?” Dudley asked. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He chided himself silently.

“I suppose,” she said.

The music changed, switching from a quiet song to something loud and thumping.

“I’m Dudley!” he shouted over the music.

“Laura!”

“Are you a friend of Mark’s?”

“Not so much. I came with Beth, whose was in his Chem class.”

“Oh.” Dudley felt the music thrum through him as he tried to say something, anything to keep the conversation going. Laura glanced down at her watch.

“It’s getting late. I have to go. Do you know where Beth is?”

Dudley looked around the crowded house, his heart sinking. He didn’t want Laura to leave until he got to know her better but he couldn’t just lie to her. He had to find Beth for her. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could not find Beth and escort her home…

“Stay here, Laura, I’ll find her for you,” Dudley offered. He was rewarded with a quick smile and a nod. Dudley bullied his way into the crowd, looking for Beth. In the center of the living room, as yet another song thundered out of the speakers, he stopped. He had no idea who Beth was or what she looked like. Dudley looked back at Laura, who had taken refuge the corner, and, squaring his shoulders, turned back into the crowd. He’d find Beth for her if it killed him. Looking around at the faces of his guests – Mark’s guests to more accurate – Dudley was stunned for a moment at the fact he didn’t recognize a single person here. It was an uncomfortable thought; it was his labor that earned the money to rent this flat and apportion it just so, not Mark’s. Dudley shoved the disloyal thought aside and started looking for Mark. He should know – he’d better know – who Beth was and where she could be found.

Mark was nowhere to be found in the crush of guests. Sighing, knowing that Mark would not appreciate his timing, Dudley slid down the hall to the bedrooms. Sure enough, he heard the murmurs of a couple behind Mark’s door. He nearly turned back, but he could still picture Laura, with that tension crease in her forehead. Letting out a breath, he rapped on the door. A decidedly female squeak answered him, followed by Mark, “This room is bloody occupied!”

“I need your help for a minute, Mark,” Dudley said.

A moment later, Mark opened the door, shirtless with his pants clinging to his thin hips for dear life. Behind him, a pretty blonde was attempting to cocoon herself in the sheets.

“Your timing blows, Big D. Now, what kind of help do you need?”

“I’m looking for someone named Beth-“

“Now you’re timing really does blow.” Mark leaned against the frame and jerked his thumb backwards. “That’s Beth.”

The blond waved hesitantly from her bundle of blankets. Dudley looked pointedly over her head and said, “Laura is looking for you. She wants to go home.”

Beth looked down at the sheets and then back up into Dudley’s face. “Tell her she’s free to leave. I’m staying.”

Mark smirked at Dudley then went back into the room. “D, you’re running the show.”

And with that, Mark closed the door in his face. Dudley wormed his way back through the crowd and into the corner where Laura waited.

“Hi,” Dudley said, a shy smile lighting his face.

“Hi,” Laura said, smiling in return.

“So, um, did you find her?”

Dudley shrugged and rubbed his head. “Yeah, yeah I did. She’s, uh, with Mark. She said you can leave; she’s going to stay the night.”

Laura blushed. “So, I guess I can go, then.”

She set down her cup on a nearby table and favored him with another small smile. “Thank you, Dudley. Goodnight.”

Dudley watched her leave, parting through the crowd like a ghost. “Bye, Laura,” he whispered.

After Christmas, Mark and Beth became enough of an item that she was always around. By extension, that included Laura. Dudley found out she was shy and disliked large crowds. She had only gone to the party because Beth had made her come. Every time Laura made a visit, Dudley was on his best behavior, taking time to listen to her talk, treat her like a guest should be treated – with courtesy and kindness. By the end of the spring term, Laura was coming over to spend time with just him.

One perfect day in May, he managed to ask her out. A simple picnic in a nearby park, they ended up running for home when a hard rain began to fall. Laughing together, just inside the foyer, her deer-hide hair slick with rain, he knew she was the one for him.

Two years later, he asked her to marry him. With her acceptance, Dudley ran head-first into what could only be described as a year-long migraine. The Wedding – it deserved capital letters for the fuss his mother (Oh, my precious ickle Diddykins is all grown up!) and Laura (Do you like Dusted Gold or Desert Sand for the ribbons, dear?) and her mother (Construction, hmmm? Well, at least you’ll be a handy man to have around.) indulged in.

Still, it was only when he and Laura were discussing the guest list that he thought of his cousin Harry again. He had never found the time to contact his cousin. Then again, Harry had never found the time to contact him, either. That night after Laura went home, Dudley took one of the overly-sentimental invitations they had chosen and turned over and over again in his hands.

He still didn’t know what he wanted to say to Harry. It had been over four years since they had last spoken, last seen one another. What did he want to say to him? ‘Look at me. I may not have saved the world, but I’m not a bullying prat anymore?’ Well, he supposed, that would be a start. Tongue lodged in one cheek, he carefully penned a note to Harry, asking him to come. This invitation, he would mail out personally.

The day of the wedding, three years to the day of their first date, Dudley was pacing back and forth in the Groom’s area of the wedding hall. Reflexively, he tugged nervously at the collar of his suit. His tux was fitted to him, but still felt distinctly uncomfortable. Mark lounged in a nearby chair, sipping a drink and watching him with amusement. Dudley was about to snap at Mark when he heard a quiet tap at the door.

Grateful for the distraction, he opened the door before the person could knock again. Harry and a slim red-headed woman who looked vaguely familiar were on the other side. His cousin’s hair was still untidy, but his suit was neatly pressed and his companion’s dress was positively modest; his mother would have nothing to complain about. Harry held up the invitation and said, “Congratulations. Thank you for inviting us.”

Dudley wasn’t sure what he should do now. Part of him, he realized, never expected him to show up. Part of him thought Harry would contact him when he got the invite and not wait until today, of all days, to reconnect. This particular moment was something he never considered.

“Come in,” Dudley said after a long moment, stepping aside so they could join him in the small room.

A wry smile flitted across Harry’s face as he led his companion inside. Dudley started to close the door, then looked over at Mark, who was staring quite rudely at Harry’s friend. “Mark,” Dudley said quietly, “could you give us a minute? Make sure we aren’t disturbed?”

Mark laughed and said, “Sure, D. Whatever you need.” Glancing over at the redhead, he added, “I can keep her company while you and he talk.”

The woman stared at him with a look that should have frozen his blood. “That won’t be necessary.” She turned her back on him and moved closer into Harry’s space. Mark shrugged and finished his drink before leaving. With the door closed, the three of them relaxed slightly. With a bright smile, the redhead stuck out her hand. “I’m Ginny. Ginny Weasley, Harry’s girlfriend. We’ve met, but it was several years ago.”

Vaguely, Dudley remembered a family of redheads that had broken in through the fireplace to fetch Harry away one summer. He ended up with a tongue that crossed the length of his mother’s parlor before the father of the family put it right. Reflexively, he bit lightly on the end of his tongue to assure himself it was perfectly normal. He didn’t remember a girl among them, but he tried hard not to remember most of his childhood encounters with Harry’s world.

Trying for a smile of his own, he shook her hand. “Dudley, Dudley Dursley. It’s nice that you could come. Both of you,” he added after a pause.

Harry looked at him, looked through him, really. “Why did you invite me, Dudley?”

Dudley sat down on the faded couch the hall had provided. “Because I thought I should.”

“You don’t own me anything,” Harry said bluntly.

“Yeah, yeah I think I do. It took me a while to figure it out. We both know I’ve never been bright. But, you see, I work for Jimmy. He’s the guy who did the repairs on the house when we went home after you were done doing whatever you did. I asked him about it, once. He said that someone had left his boss a sack of money and letter, telling him what to say about the job and to my parents. That would’ve been your doing, right?”

“I-“

“I’m not gonna tell them. They wouldn’t appreciate knowing you did something for them. But I know and I thought I should say thank you.”

Harry let out a breath. “You’re welcome.”

There was a rap at the door. Mark called out after it, “D, it’s time. Are you sure you want to do this?”

Dudley chuckled. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Harry and Ginny smiled and linked arms. “We’re going to get out seats and try and avoid my Aunt and Uncle. Congratulations, again, D.”

“Thanks, Harry.”

Dudley, Harry and Ginny left the small room. It was time to go claim his bride and begin their life together.

** Interlude: Letters **

June 7, 2003

Dear Harry and Ginny,

Dudley and I wanted to thank you for the lovely gift you bought us. I adore the copper-bottomed pots. And Dudley, well, he loves eating what comes out of them. It was a pleasure to meet you at the wedding. I do apologize again for the fuss, but I’m sure no harm was meant.

Thank you again for the gift.

Sincerely,

Laura and Dudley Dursley

***

August 20, 2003  
Dear Laura –

I’m so glad you like the pots. We weren’t sure what to get you, but, fortunately, Harry is a wizard with ~~Muggle~~ shopping. Don’t worry about the fuss; we knew that it may be problematic for us to be there. Anyway, how are you adjusting to married life? I’m thinking about getting Harry to propose to me, but I not sure I’m ready to quit ~~playing Quidditch~~ working and settle down. From what Dudley told us, you’ve studied Biology at University. Do you plan to work? Oh, I know I’m being nosy, but I felt like we could be really good friends and it seems important to Harry to have, you know, a relationship with his cousin. After all, you’re family now. Anyway, I’ve got to go. Write back soon!

Love,

Ginny

***

September 8, 2003

Dear Ginny –

You’re absolutely right; we are family now. And with family, there are no sacred cows. Feel free to ask what you’d like; I always wanted a sister. Yes, I still plan to work. Dudley does just fine for the both of us working at his parent’s firm, but, well, I didn’t go to university for nothing! I’m looking into some post graduate studies right now, but with the wedding, everything is up in the air. Don’t worry; I don’t think there’s any reason marriage should cause you to stop working. This isn’t the stone age anymore – women are not chattel or the property of their husbands. If you want to marry Harry, go ahead! There’s no reason your job of all things should stop you.

As for Harry and Dudley, well, it’s up to them, really, how it goes. We can’t make them do or feel anything they’re not ready to feel. I don’t know much about their past history, but from what Dudley’s let slip, it wasn’t pretty and most of it was on his head. Well, what’s past is past and cannot be easily mended. They’ll talk to one another when they’re ready.

What is your phone number? I’d love to chat with you directly.

Yours,

Laura

***

January 2, 2004

Dudley –

I’m not sure how to say this, so I hope it comes out right. I don’t hate you, either.

Harry

***

January 19, 2004

Harry –

I’m not sure what to say, either. I don’t think you’re a bad person and I’m glad you saved the world. I don’t hate wizards and I’m sorry for all the rotten things I did to you when we were growing up. I’m not sure what else I can say because everything else just sounds too stupid to put on paper.

Dudley

***

February 15, 2004

Dudley –

Ginny suggested we meet somewhere and have a meal or a pint together and just talk, face to face. It sounds like a good idea to me.

Harry

***

March 16, 2004

Dear Ginny –

I’m not sure what went wrong. Dudley came home with a black eye and a pink eyebrow. He won’t say a word about last night. What happened?

Yours,

Laura

***

March 18, 2004

Laura –

I’m not sure what happened – Harry’s not talking either. Is Dudley’s eyebrow back to normal?

Ginny

***

March 19, 2004

Dudley –

I apologize; I didn’t realize I was still so angry about all that happened. Your eyebrow should return to normal shortly. In the meantime, if you still want to talk, maybe it’s best to do so through letters for right now.

Your cousin,

Harry

***

August 15, 2004

Dear Ginny –

Congratulations! Your ring sounds gorgeous. Let me know if you need any help – I’ve been through the whole wedding process before. As a mater of fact, if you need a caterer, I highly recommend Carter and Sons. They catered our reception and it was just fabulous – for the three bites I got to eat anyway!

Anyway, I’m here if you need me. Oh, I wish you had a phone! Are you sure they don’t have mobile service our where you live?

Yours,

Laura

***

October 9, 2004

Laura –

I’m so excited! You’re having a baby! I know this is unexpected, but believe me, this is a wonderful event. My mom had seven kids, so if want any advice, let me know and I’ll ask her. I’m sure some of it will apply to you. We aren’t that different, after all.

Ginny

***

January 11, 2005

Dear Ginny,

Thank you for lunch. The Burrow was quite charming. I know I was angry about the potion and I still am a bit. But after talking with you and your mother, I’m sure you meant no harm.

Just one question: is your mother always that enthusiastic about pregnancy?

Yours,

Laura

***

March 6, 2005

Ginevra:

If the home-brewed concoction you fed me harms so much as one hair on my child’s head, I will be murder you with my bare _Muggle_ hands.

Laura Dursley

***

March 7, 2005

Laura –

I’m so sorry no one told you about Harry and, well, me. You see, Muggles like you are supposed to know about us. Dudley knows because he grew up with Harry. That’s why they hated each other so much. I don’t know what to say except, well, I’m really sorry you had to find out this way. And, no, the potion my mum made shouldn’t cause any harm.

Ginny

** Part II **

Laura gave birth to a healthy baby girl four months after Ginny and Harry wed. All fingers, toes, and yes, hair, was accounted for. They named her Emily and smiled when she slept. Another tense moment was avoided when Harry and Ginny politely declined to attend the child’s christening.

Emily grew into, in the eyes of her parents, a wonderful toddler who was occasionally possessed by the Devil’s own mischief. In the eyes of her grandparents, she was perfect. With Laura working for a local biotech firm and Dudley his father’s right hand man since Jimmy retired last year, Emily spent her days parked in Grandma Petunia’s office. At first, it seemed like she would be content to spend her days in the mesh portable playpen. That only lasted for a few hours.

Petunia’s days rapidly became a hectic split between handling the office work (which never seemed to end) and chasing Emily around the house. The girl took an absolute delight in waiting until Grandma Tuney was distracted and then making a break for it. The small girl could always be found in the garden, dirt tipping her long brown pigtails and ruining her neat jumper. And always a delightful grin on her face and a flower ripped up from the ground for her grandmother.

When Emily turned four, Laura and Dudley both saw her off on her first day of Primary School. As she entered the schoolyard, she waved goodbye to her parents, her cheeky grin gaping where her milk teeth were crooked. Laura involuntarily started toward her daughter at the sight of a smudge of dirt on her chin. Dudley sat with her when she cried, then laughed. Neither of them went to work that day. While they enjoyed the peculiar and unfamiliar sensations of being parents of a school-aged child, Petunia sat in her too-quiet office, occasionally filing tear-stained contracts.

Emily’s sister Olivia was born the following summer. It was hard to say who was happier – Petunia or Dudley and Laura. It certainly wasn’t Emily, who regarded the tiny, wrinkled and screaming bundled that her parents introduced as her sister with deep suspicion. But as Olivia became more interesting to her older sister, the sharp glares from Emily started to fade away.

As Emily moved forward in school, her marks were enough to please her mother and become a bragging point for Dudley. The regular men on Dudley’s crew looked forward to the end of term with unabashed glee; Dudley could be counted on for his generosity when Emily brought home solid marks.

When Emily was eight - and she showed her four year old sister how she could spin a twig in the palm of her hand without touching it – things began to change. This wouldn’t have been so bad if it had been in Dudley and Laura’s home. Instead, it was Grandma Petunia’s garden and the twig was from one her prize hydrangea bushes. Petunia had stepped into the garden to gather the girls for lunch when she heard Olivia’s excited clapping.

“Do it again, Em-lee! Do it again!” Olivia cried, delighted in her sister’s trick.

Emily’s smile, mischievous as ever, split her face as she made the twig dance and sway across her hand.

Petunia placed her hand against her chest; her heart was racing beneath it. She swayed against the open doorway, her heel catching the threshold and causing her to stumble backwards into her kitchen. Shaken, she sat at her kitchen table and clasped her hands together until the fine bones ground together under the pressure and the physical pain was greater than the pain in her heart. Then she got up and called the girls from the doorway – carefully looking away from them and their “game” – for lunch

All through the day, Petunia kept a wary eye on the sisters. If it even looked like Emily and her unnatural gift would harm one hair on Olivia’s head, she was ready to swoop in and save the girl. Still her vigilance was for nothing, as Emily and Olivia played normal games for the rest of the day.

That night, Petunia sat nervously in bed as she waited for Vernon to finish his nightly ablution and join her. She didn’t want to tell him that Dudley’s girl was a freak like Harry – like Lily – but it would come out eventually, especially if she was supposed to go to that freak school of theirs. Her hands clenched and twisted and smoothed and clenched again the thin summer sheet covering her lap. When Vernon emerged from the bathroom with _that_ smile on his face and a bounce in his step, she forced herself to let go of the sheet. Maybe it would be easier to tell him afterward.

It continued like that for a week, then two, and then a whole month went by with Petunia sitting on this secret. She didn’t even mention it to Dudley; her son must know, she thought. All during that time, Petunia kept up her hawk-like watch of the girls until, one day, it stopped hurting to see her granddaughters relive her and Lily’s mischief. It no longer hurt so much to watch Emily share her small games and talents with Olivia; the fact that they in no way resembled Lily helped considerably when she thought of it. Still, after avoiding the topic for long with Vernon, Petunia chose not to say anything. Let them have peace, Petunia though as she sipped a mug of tea that autumn and watched Emily and Olivia cavort in leaves moved by magic’s breeze.

~\~\~\~

At ten, Emily received her Hogwarts letter. It was delivered, not by owl, but by a man her father introduced as Cousin Harry. Tall and thin with messy black hair, he stepped inside the house almost sheepishly, the creamy envelope tucked between his fingers. He handed the letter to Dudley with a direct gaze.

“I thought it would be best if you heard it from me,” he said quietly as Dudley skimmed the letter before handing to Laura.

“It was good of you to think of us like that, but I’m not my parents,” Dudley said quietly. “I’d suspected for years – she had funny turns like yours from time to time – and, if you say it’s safe, she can go.”

“I promise you, Dudley, it’s safe for her to go. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t,” Harry said earnestly.

Laura looked up from the packet of parchment. “What does all this mean, Harry? That’s Emily’s like you? Like Ginny?”

“That’s about the gist of it. Hogwarts will teach her what she needs to know to be the best witch she can be.”

“What about math and science and history? What about all the things no-“ Laura cut off abruptly.

“Normal kids learn?” Harry said with a wan smile. Laura blushed and nodded mutely. “Emily is a witch. She’s not like ‘normal’ kids, Laura. Hogwarts will teach her how to use her magic to her best ability. But you are right – it won’t prepare her for life in the Muggle world afterward.”

“Well, why not?” she demanded.

“Because few Muggle-born students choose to come back to the Muggle world after learning how to be a witch or a wizard at Hogwarts. For example, one of my best friends from Hogwarts, a brilliant Muggle-born like Emily, tried to fit into the Muggle world after she graduated. She came back after a month; she says it wasn’t her world anymore.”

Laura gingerly picked up the parchment and envelope and set them down on the coffee table. “I’m not sure if this school of yours would be best for Emily,” she said after a moment.

Harry nodded. “I understand. You have plenty of time to make a decision. You know how to reach me if you have any question.”

He left as quietly as he hade come.

~\~\~\~

Harry’s visit had been on a Thursday. On Sunday, as they drove to Surrey for Sunday brunch as Grandma and Grandpa’s, Emily’s parents still fought about what to do. The conversation occurred above her head, as though she couldn’t hear it, let alone comprehend it.

“They don’t want to come back! That’s my problem, Dudley! It’s like they brainwash the kids they get. I’m not sending Emily away so she can become some sort of zombie witch!” Laura hissed as they drove.

Dudley said the same thing he had been saying for three days. “Laura, I don’t think it’s like that.”

And Laura replied the same way she had for three days: “How would you know? You’re not one of Them.”

Emily squirmed in her seat and bit her tongue. She knew from previous efforts that her opinion was Not Wanted. Olivia watched their parents squabble nervously. As Laura and Dudley walked the same ground over and over again, Olivia whispered to her sister, “Emily, if I’m like you, will they talk about me like I’m not real, too?”

“I hope not,” Emily replied with a squeeze for her sister.

Tension simmered between Dudley and Laura as they pulled up next to his parent’s home. After cutting the engine, Dudley grabbed Laura’s hand to stop her from exiting the car. “Laura, please, just for this afternoon, don’t say anything.”

“What? You want me to play meek and silent? After all these years?”

“Don’t be daft. Just don’t say anything about…you know.”

“Sending our daughter to a magical cult to be brainwashed? Why ever would I not, Dudley?”

“Laura,” Dudley began.

“No. If your parents can help you see sense, so much the better.”

Laura jerked her hand out from under his and stormed out of the car and marched into her in-law’s house. Dudley turned back and looked at his daughters.

“Emily, Olivia, girls, I need you to do me a favor.”

“Yes, Daddy?” Emily asked nervously. Olivia looked up at him with wide blue eyes, her thumb firmly planted in her mouth.

“I need you to be on your best behavior today. You know how Mommy and I have been fighting?” Both girls nodded silently. “Well, it’s about to get a lot worse. Emily, this is about you, so you should be there. And since you’ll be there, Olivia will be too. Just, just keep quiet and wait for the shouting to stop before saying anything, okay?”

They nodded and Dudley, squared his shoulder as he gathered his children to him before entering his parent’s home. On the doorstep, Dudley bent down and whispered to his girls, “And remember – no matter what happens today, everyone – me, Mommy, Granddad and Grandma – we all love you both very much.” The girls nodded and entered the house with their father.

Laura had used her brief window wisely; she was arrayed with Vernon and Petunia in the parlor when Dudley entered with the girls. His father’s face was florid; his mother’s hands twisted a kerchief into wrinkled knots. Dudley tucked Emily and Olivia behind him as Vernon began.

“You! How dare you consider sending my granddaughter to that freak show of a school! Boy, I thought I raised you to have more sense than that! No granddaughter of mine is one of those blasted wizards!”

Dudley stared at the worn, patterned run in the parlor; an old habit returned as he bit the tip of his tongue and let his father’s ranting wash over him. Looking up from the rug, Dudley stared at his father’s bloated, flushed face as he panted and bellowed.

“She’ll go if she wants to go,” Dudley said, cutting through his father’s blustering without shouting himself.

“You, you,” Vernon sputtered, before he gasped once and collapsed to the parlor floor.

~\~\~\~

The girls were sobbing as they watched their grandfather being loaded into the ambulance, with their grandmother climbing inside to join him before the bus sped off for the nearest hospital. Dudley and his family followed, shell-shocked by the sudden collapse of Vernon. At the hospital, Laura and Dudley clung to one another, their daughters with them, all hostility and disagreements forgotten. Sinking down on the nearby bench, Laura gathered her daughters close to her and looked up at Dudley, who stared off blankly down the hall long after the doctors caring for his father disappeared.

“Dudley,” Laura whispered, “it’s not your fault.”

“I thought he would be mad; hell, Laura, I knew his reaction would make yours look like sainted blessing. I just didn’t think it would kill him.”

“He’s not dead, Dudley,” Laura said quietly.

“But he might. This may have killed him.”

“You heard Petunia – he’s been short of breath and having chest pain for a while now. Dudley, this isn’t your fault. This isn’t our fault,” Laura pleaded.

“I know, I know, but,” Dudley signed and collapsed, holding his head in his hands. “I still feel like, if I hadn’t pushed it, maybe…”

“Let’s see how things go, and we’ll come back to Emily and her schooling. Just the two of us, okay?”

“Okay.”

As Laura and Dudley clung to each other on the bench, Emily and Olivia did the same on the floor at their feet. Emily’s eyes were red from crying, in part because her grandfather was maybe dead, in part because she was afraid it was her fault.

“Don’t cry, Emily,” Olivia said. “It’ll be okay. Besides, look!”

In Olivia’s hand, a gum wrapper floated above her palm and slowly began to spin.


End file.
